


This Is The End...

by InquisiAzrael



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Escape From The Fade, Gen, Pre-Relationship, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 23:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7777168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquisiAzrael/pseuds/InquisiAzrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Azrael Lavellan, a proud elf of the Dalish, or at least she used to be. The elves are all she has ever known, although many residents of her nomadic clan alienate her. Outcast is what they belligerently labeled the young mage, and the reasoning behind the title seemed unending. Adopted into clan Lavellan, becoming First after her abilities with magic became apparent, and a secret only she and Deshanna know of. An elf marked with vallaslin thought to have been long forgotten, the elves of clan Lavellan view her with utter disgust. She was not of them, and yet she was in line to become Keeper, to become hahren. The hunters were wary of her, the women despised her, even the children avoided solely because their parents did. Why? Because she was different. Very…different… And they are all too happy to send her to the shemlen Conclave. Alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is The End...

The irritatingly parched sensation of dry dust coating her skin greeted Azrael Lavellan upon waking, her mood instantly irate. Silt and grime seemed jammed into every pore of her being, creating a sense of gritty revulsion to rise within her core. She was not a fan of filth. Years of living in the forests of Thedas and she still cringed at the thought of dirt under her nails and dry, chapped fingers.

The impression brought forth memories of going barefoot for far too long on a hot summer day, trudging around, scuffing her heels, causing her feet to crack and chafe. Her calloused toes would then vexingly catch on her garments when changing, or on her blankets if she was too weary to wash before retiring for the night. She applied salves to soften the soles and offer some relief. She knew it was tedious, the cycle beginning anew each day, but she persisted until they were reasonably soft. Not perfect, but at least they didn’t look like wyvern feet.

A shudder erupted along her shoulder blades, traveling the length of her spine. Simply remembering the scratchy sensation set her teeth on edge, grinding them together, anchoring her abhorrence. She needed a bath.

In spite of her agitation as to exactly why she was draped in dirt, the recollections of her home skipping through her mind dampened her displeasure. The images frolicked behind her eyelids, flitting fragments of past experiences come to play, to reminisce. They danced at the edges of her imagination, a well-rehearsed movement meant to calm her dramatic emotions. Frequent visitors. With an audible huff, the tension borne from her distasteful position left her in the exhalation of a single breath.

Straying from her ruminations, Azrael focused on the present. It felt as though she had lain there for ages. She flexed her fingers and toes, an action that required a little too much mental effort. Her body didn’t seem to want to respond to mental stimulation. Abdomen pressed to the ground, limbs limp along her sides, she appeared to be in peaceful repose. Except she wasn’t, far from it in fact. The musty air clogged her airway, tickling deep within her throat. A choking cough wracked her placid form, jolting her weary mind into a state of slow awareness.

Face resting against hard, clammy rock, Azrael allowed for a few more moments of static rest, letting her blood circulate, awaiting feeling to return to her body. Once more, she pondered listlessly. Keeper Deshanna had sent her on a political undertaking. Observe the peace talks between the mages and templars and return to relay the information learned to clan Lavellan.

“It is in the best interest of the clan that we discover whether the war will continue to rampage throughout the South,” hahren had implored.

“Best interest of the clan,” she had mocked, rolling uninterested eyes to the sky, sarcasm painted throughout the phrase. Best interest to send the outcast away for as long as possible. Best interest to be rid of the “other one”. Best interest her arse.

She knew, oh she knew all too well that behind those rehearsed excuses, those practiced expressions, they squirmed at the opportunity to place an entire ocean between them and her. That was why, that was the true reason she was to be sent alone across the Waking Sea into unfamiliar territory. No support, no escort, no companions.

Even though she was to venture forth without any form of aid, no comforting presence of another body, she did not dwell on it. She had become accustomed to a solitary existence, wading through a lake of leery side glances and whispered gossip the entirety of her remembered existence.

“Da'len, please. Attend the Conclave. We must know.” That’s how Deshanna had won her over. He had grasped her by the elbows, cupping her arms within his, eyes beseeching, much like a pleading father.

It was those damned eyes. The only eyes to ever look upon her with compassion and love. Love for a child lost among a people she called her own when they did not return the sentiment. He was the only one who sympathized her position. First of a clan that could barely tolerate her divergent views and abilities. He was her teacher, her mentor, and the closest thing she has ever had to a father. His pity was unsurprising of course, since he had been the one who had rescued her from–

–The Conclave! Her large, hazel eyes sprung wide as the Dalish spy realized where she was. Hastily, she heaved her well-built form up off the ground, coughing past her parched tongue. The shems must be giggling at the sight of an elf sprawled across their temple’s floor. Probably beneath some statue of their gods’ feet, too. Just her luck.

She was only able to make it onto one knee before a nauseating pulse of dizziness ran through her head and traveled down her muscled shoulders, causing her to squeeze her eyelids shut again. Azrael was naturally more built then most elves, her pale skin stretched over toned muscle conditioned by years of use. Yes, many elves were “conditioned by years of use” as well, but Azrael was thicker-limbed, unlike the common lanky look of the Elvhen. Must be something in her bloodline, she had mused once. Not like she knew where she came from. Just another trait her ‘fellows’ could exploit in their verbal attacks towards her.

She braced her unsteady frame, resting an arm over her raised knee and pressing the other palm to the stone. Or…was it?

The terrain around her felt…odd. The stone, upon touching it, held a strange sensation. It felt almost alive, incorporeal, like it was moving. Was she going crazy?

Peeping through bleary eyes, she discovered that the ground did in fact appear solid and sound. Yep, definitely going mad. However, something pulled her away from her personal psychiatric examination. It was stone, jagged and uneven. This wasn’t the polished floor of the shemlen temple. Where was she?

With an undignified groan, the elf rose shakily to her feet, teetering slightly as she found her equilibrium. She rubbed her head, a terrible migraine was paying a visit. Long hair flowed past her her shoulders and beyond the the width of her ribs. Blonde. On the verge of being dirty, yet still retaining a platinum hue.

She squinted past the layered locks, trying to focus her eyesight and survey her surroundings. Several odd formations could be made out, but the hazy light afforded very little. And she sincerely wished that the low visibility was the reasoning behind several of the structures appearing to float through the air. Either that or she truly was crazy. The headache didn’t help.

Aside from the bleak landscapes, to sum up what she saw; darkness. Everywhere. Some over here, a little over there, and, oh look! There’s a patch of bleak shadows that looks almost dark gray. Her cocky humor was on a rampage in this place.

All of her senses were dulled, perverted, unable to fulfill their intended purpose. Is that why the rock had felt alive? Swirling swaths of humid mist blanketed the stone on which she stood, fazing out of the earth beneath her feet. It encircled her, caressing her skin with a sickly purpose. She could have sworn it left a trail of swampy dew in its wake. Ugh, she really needed a bath. She needed to get away. Get away from wherever this was. She had to now.

A sense of urgency rose through her gut and up into her throat. Something was wrong. She cringed involuntarily, shrinking within herself, trying to hide, to get away. Her pulse quickened as well as her breath. Something was very wrong. This place was wrong… Where in the Void was she? She shook her head, attempting to clear her vision and calm her hectic breathing. Her sensitive nerves always overreacted at the worst of times.

Turning, hoping to seek out an escape in another direction, she was instantly assaulted by a blinding glow. Whatever hope she had had of being able to see for more than two seconds was brutally dashed as her eyes were seemingly victimized at every turn.

Was it the sun? No, she could still feel the encroaching darkness pressing in on her at all angles. Azrael raised an arm to protect her tortured pupils from the disorienting radiance, straining to locate its source.

An outline began to appear, encompassing the light within a figure of…something. A woman? She ruled out the light being the sun. Even if it wasn’t Elgar’nan’s father, it was bright enough to be mistaken for him. However, this luminence was different, more pure. It was tangible throughout the air, a cleansing of the atmosphere within the vicinity of the striking beams. No heat originated from it, nothing but daunting illumination.

Azrael began to shuffle towards the vaguely human outline, sluggishly placing one foot in front of the other. Where else could she go? The light was the only defining point in this shifting landscape. The elf concentrated on that point, intent in her purpose. It was all she could do aside from go careening over the edge of the cliff.

Cliff? Yes, it was. The plateau had transitioned into a steep ridge composed of irregular, broken steps leading directly to the light. The rugged stairway was framed by drop-offs on both sides. Down below, an abyssal pit to which Azrael didn’t want to know whether it ended or not.

Halfway up the slope, or what she assumed to be halfway, everything was so confusing that it was difficult to trust her own judgement, a skittering of many legs met her hearing. The first noise she had heard since waking aside from her own labored breaths. It was brief, but it was there. Hope bubbled within her. Someone was here with her! She wasn’t alone!

There it was again, and another. Only, that last one sounded distinctly insect-like. A chill ran up her spine. She hated bugs.

Dread began to overtake her hopeful insight. Realization dawned on her. No…not someone…something was here with her. Azrael whipped around, eyes straining to pull apart the shadows in hopes of viewing the creature dogging her steps. The noises were originating from just beyond the edge of her vision, within the darkness, and they were coming steadily closer.

A shape began to slowly materialize, separating its dark form from the shadows it slipped through. Azrael’s gut tightened, twisting into a sickening knot as another shudder ran through her limbs. Only this was not a chill of petty disgust, it was one of sheer terror.

A creature that resembled the giant spiders she had viewed from afar while exploring the forests her clan traversed, was stalking her. This monster, however, was far more horrifying. It made the arachnids she had encountered seem like small terrors. Like when you find one in your bedding. You scream, grab a shoe, and squash it. End of story. Not this time.

The creature was covered in hideous spines that jutted from it’s legs and joints. They all but made up the entirety of it’s swollen abdomen as it brushed the ground beneath it, spindly legs barely able to support its weight. Beady, black eyes peppered what Azrael would call a “face” if not for the massive mandibles protruding from it’s jaw. They could barely conceal the poisonous fangs dripping with saliva beneath them. And it wasn’t alone.

The primitive instinct of “fight or flight” that lies dormant until utmost necessity began to stir within the lone elf as she watched several of the creatures emerge from behind the first. Azrael would usually stand and fight off her adversaries, but these monsters…the ancient compulsion was kicking in closer to the “flight” end of the spectrum this time. It propelled her into a momentum up the slope that surprised even her, considering her current state.

Each footfall was a new nightmare, one that played out at an agonizing pace. Each movement seemed to steepen the ridge and shorten the distance between her and the pack that followed. Every step became sharper and more ragged to the point that the elf had to begin scaling the path on all fours.

The figure, the woman! Azrael could see her silhouette clearly now. A large flaring crown adorned her brow. And…her hand. Yes! It was reaching towards her now, beckoning the enervated elf to continue climbing.

Stupid curiosity made her take a single glance behind, one she instantly regretted. The hoard was hot on her tail, their multiple appendages carrying them swiftly up the slope, much faster than her frantic, fumbling steps. She could feel their jaws clicking and clacking at her heels as she turned and clawed towards the woman. She was her final hope. Her salvation.

Almost there! Azrael gritted her teeth, tears welling up in her eyes, blurring her vision and causing the pristine outline of the woman to smear into a golden-white light. She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t staunch their flow. She didn’t want to die, not like this! Her hand, it was so close, reaching. Azrael stretched her own hand out to meet the crowned figure’s desperate grasp.

Too far. Another step. So close! One more step. Reaching, reaching…

The light, the one that had burned before her eyes, exploded, enveloping Azrael in blissful sensation, chasing away the darkness that had clawed at her, trying to consume her. Then it was all gone. The light and the dark, the ground and the sky. Just for an instant, an instant of serenity. Then they were replaced by new shapes and sounds.

Cracked rubble and broken architecture met her streaming vision. Her senses returned and she took a sharp, grateful breath, the invisible barricade blocking their flow breaking like a dam. It felt like she had been drowning, her body trembling with a fit of coughing and gasping as she senslessly crawled over scattered debris. The smell of burning flesh and active magic assaulted her nose. And the stone. The stone was not alive here.

The Dalish mage raised her head, gazing through tousled hair and salty tears that still fell from her long lashes. Doe eyes flicked around frantically, trying to get their bearings again. Figures were heading straight for her, two branching off to the sides while one stayed on it’s path. The spiders! Fear gripped her insides.

No wait…people…

A soft smile creased her features, relief flooding her body. But the sense of solace was brief. These beings had swords drawn and ready. They were clad in armor that glinted in a garish, green glow that was cast over everything. They were going to kill her.

Limbs barely able to support her, Azrael collapsed, prone once again. Exhausted, shaken, and defeated, the elf awaited her fate. She was just barely able to make out one feature of her assailants before she succumbed to her weariness.

Their ears. Flat. Humans. Shemlen.

Her eyes began to drape shut, darkness overcoming her senses once more, a familiar bedfellow. She pondered, only for a moment, what had become of the Conclave. Had the mages curbed their appetite for power and revenge? Did the templars agree to protect the mages, or if that was too difficult of a task for their bruised egos, did they at least agree to leave them be? Was the war over?

They were upon her now. Filthy shemlen. She wished she could have enjoyed at least one warm bath before she left this world. A hot spring and then a cool cleanse beneath a waterfall. She could almost feel the droplets running down her skin.

No, this was what destiny deemed her worthy of. Laying beneath the feet of her ancestor’s conquerors, her people’s oppressors. Another victim of their tyranny.

Azrael breathed calmly, savoring the fresh air, even if it was laden with the scent of seared flesh and burning rubble. She cherished her final moments, for she knew…

This was her end….

**Author's Note:**

> I am fully aware that Keeper Deshanna is canonically female, but Azrael connects with males more readily. I altered it for her sake. ^^


End file.
